


Celebrate Alone (With You)

by ahhhhrexa



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Copa del Rey, Drama, FC Barcelona, Friendship, M/M, Post - Copa Del Rey Final 2015, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 15:10:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8290427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahhhhrexa/pseuds/ahhhhrexa
Summary: Ney had a high from the win, one that made him feel so good, and completely energized. He was shirtless, down to only his boxers, and his skin felt a bit sticky thanks to newly formed sweat and some champagne that was poured over him. The beat of loud music that was playing from the speakers he brought, vibrant music that Dani chose, made the hairs on his skin rise. The air had a taste of victory, the sense of accomplishment palpable, and it made his heart beat fast. The thrill of a hard fought win wasn’t just in him. It filled the locker room in the Camp Nou, creating a jubilant atmosphere, and its sweetness infected everyone’s mood, touching their senses, heightening their emotions. He wasn’t alone in his high. Seeing his teammates so happy injected him with more gaiety. They had done a great job pleasing the fans, pleasing themselves.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had a prompt given to me on Tumblr that said: 20) Things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear.

Ney had a high from the win, one that made him feel so good, and completely energized. He was shirtless, down to only his boxers, and his skin felt a bit sticky thanks to newly formed sweat and some champagne that was poured over him. The beat of loud music that was playing from the speakers he brought, vibrant music that Dani chose, made the hairs on his skin rise. The air had a taste of victory, the sense of accomplishment palpable, and it made his heart beat fast.

 

The thrill of a hard fought win wasn’t just in him. It filled the locker room in the Camp Nou, creating a jubilant atmosphere, and its sweetness infected everyone’s mood, touching their senses, heightening their emotions. He wasn’t alone in his high. Seeing his teammates so happy injected him with more gaiety. They had done a great job pleasing the fans, pleasing themselves.

 

The coaching staff was huddled up together near the edge that led toward the adjoining conference room. They spoke in excited whispers to each other; some were using enthusiastic hand motions as they spoke while others had their arms crossed. Every now and then, they glanced at the celebrating players bearing strong smiles and kind eyes. He winked at Lucho, who gave him a proud look; his face, which was normally serious with a hint of mischief, now was filled with happiness, pleased about success, like a father approving his sons’ deeds.

 

On one end, a little near to the coaching staff stood Andres, Busi and Xavi. They, too, were whispering to each other, soft smiles placed firmly on their faces as they talked. Ney could tell by how bright their eyes were that they felt really good despite not partaking in the alcohol. They were celebrating, in their own way, preferring to be separated from the others. That’s what they always liked. The three captains didn’t make any motion that they noticed Ney, but he didn’t take any offense. They liked their quiet moments and he always made sure to respect that.

 

On another end, by his locker, he saw Rafinha and Ter Stegen together, knees touching and arms around each other. They looked comfortable in not saying anything. They just watched the dancing Adriano, Dani, and Douglas with content smiles on their faces. He debated whether he should plop himself between the lovebirds, give a teasing or two to his princesa and to his German. Or he could join his other fellow Brazilians in the dance; pretend to complain about Dani’s choice in music, and say he was a better dancer than Douglas. It sounded like a good idea.

 

Not right now, he finally thought. The sound of jumbled Catalan was being sung out in a shaky voice. He looked away from the dancing to those who stood just a few inches away from the other Brazilians and the German. The man singing at the top of his lungs was none other than Gerard Pique himself. He was swaying side to side as he sang, eyes glazed over, and a bottle of whiskey being held firmly in his left hand.

 

Geri used it as a microphone, his pitch disastrous to behold, and a little hurtful to the ears, but no one said a word about it, either too drunk to notice or too happy and unwilling to be the buzz kill. Jordi and Ivan, eyes red from either from being tipsy or crying tears, were swinging their arms to Geri’s erratic beat, the sweat making their chests glisten, and they were trying to sing along, but failing miserably.

 

Marc and Sergi came up to him from the doors near the hallway. Their shoulders so close that it almost looked like they were one person. They each tried pulling his arm, gesturing towards the tall singer, but he resisted, playfully slapping their hands away with polite words. He could barely form more than three sentences in Catalan. How could they expect him to sing a song in it?

 

Giving up, the two “sons of Pique” as Geri liked to call them, joined hands and stood beside the wall that made them look toward their friends. Both appeared wet again despite already drying up from their shower. It must be the champagne, Ney thought. Dani had made sure to spray them all after they cleaned up.

 

Ney felt someone’s dry, coarse hands grab his right hand and squeeze gently. Next he felt someone’s chin rest on left his shoulder, and another hand rest on top of his head. Hey, I just fixed that, he thought. He tried to move the head off his hair by shaking, but to no avail.

 

It didn’t take him long to finger out whom the two men were for one starting humming a familiar tune, the song of their home “El Cant del Barca.” He leaned his head toward the head resting on him. Ney never knew Sandro could sing so well. The recent La Masia graduate didn’t reveal his talent until their win home win against Bayern. He refrained from suggesting that they should have a duet.

 

Ney squeezed Munir’s hand tightly. He let his other hand rub his fingers over Munir’s knuckles, feeling out the bumps and tracing over the grooves. If there was one part of Munir that didn’t scream handsome, it was his hands. The young man could be incredibly insecure about them so Ney made it his duty to appreciate them, never pulling away, always kind in their hand holding.

 

Done with their close proximity, Ney shrugged them off of him. He withheld his laugh as Sandro almost slipped on a stray jersey that was lying on the floor. He was only able to steady himself when Munir grabbed his arm. They were now muttering to each other, so low that Ney couldn’t hear so he turned from away from them to look back towards the lockers.

 

To a couple of seats to the right of Terfina, he nearly giggled at the name he found on the Internet, sat Mathieu and Vermaelen. They both were fiddling with the medal that hung off their necks. Their fingers moved in sync, a thumb rubbing the tip-top, an index finger pressing on the backside, and the other fingers twisted and turned. Ney marveled at the concentration on their faces. He never understood Thomas, but that’s because the man was unfortunate to have rarely played. He liked messing with Mathieu especially if he ever catches the man smoking.

 

Ney almost jumped when he realized there were two people sitting on the left, just below Jeremy and Thomas. He hadn’t noticed them when he had walked to Dani and away from him. They were so quiet and unassuming.

 

It was Pedro and Montoya sitting on the floor, backs against the red seats, hands clasped together. They looked tired, but at ease as they leaned into each other. Ney knew they were talking, but not with their words. Those two always communicated through seemingly small changes in their facial expressions.

 

Just off to another corner, slightly between where Mathieu and Vermaelen sat and where Terfinha sat, stood Masip and Claudio. They both were holding their goalkeepers gloves protectively, clearly treasuring them more than the medals around their neck. Ney could see their lips moving, tried out of curiosity to see what they were saying, but they spoke their words so rapidly that he knew he couldn’t make any educated guess.

 

“You were incredible out there!” Luis exclaimed excitedly. He draped his arms around Ney, pulling him closer with great affection. “So damn good!” He sounded so impressed. He fondly reached up and gently pulled one of Ney’s ears. “Reymar, that’s what they call you, right? I like it. Reymar.”

 

This made Ney blush. Luis never stopped praising him, always showed him kindness, taking the jokes he handed out appreciatively, and throwing jokes right back at him. He never shrugged him off, and never tried to make him stop being clingy, accepting that Ney was a tactile type of person.

 

Ney giggled as he pushed himself away from Luis’ strong, sturdy arms. “Gordito, you know you’re great too!” he replied. He pretended to scrunch up his face in distaste when he noticed that Luis didn’t have his shirt off like the rest of their teammates. “Oh, c’mon!” he said, moving his hands forward. He grabbed at the bottom of Luis’ undershirt and began to pull up. “Just take it off for once! I won’t laugh!”

 

“Ah! Ne- puta madre!” Luis exclaimed, pushing Ney’s hands away. His high laugher was so contagious that it made Ney’s laugher even more intense. “No, Ney!” He quickly backed away. Though the playfulness still in his eyes, a flash of seriousness shaded his face, and he looked around the room. A quizzical look came to his face after noticing what was around him, and he said, “Where’s Lio? And Masche? I had someone make mate for us.”

 

Ney looked around. There were no signs of the two Argentineans. This was quite strange to him because he knew the two liked to drink mate. The two along with Luis even tried to get him to drink with them, but it was too bitter and he always said that there should be more sugar.

 

Luis held the same confusion that he felt. If anything, Mascherano should be around. The older Argentine liked being near Luis. Their companionship wasn’t as well publicized as Luis and Lio’s friendship, but it was clear to Ney just how strong the friendship was between them. Ney never mentioned it, but he always suspected it was more than just comradely as teammates, there had to be something deeper.

 

Now Lio was a different story. He was close to just about everyone in the team and the coaching staff. It was all in just varying degrees. For example, Ney knew that Andres and Lio never needed to speak words to each other. All they needed to do was look at each other to know what the other was thinking. With Geri, Ney saw Lio almost turn back into a child, an easy smile always on his face whenever the Catalan recalled a story or joked around.

 

Ney liked to think he was different. A part of him believed that he was a little more special than the others when it came to his relationship with Lio. He was a very open person when it came to the Argentine, always revealing how he felt, never hiding it. Flirting with Lio was the best thing ever. He prided himself in the smile that Lio gives him every time he flirted. It felt like a goal whenever Lio laughed at one of his jokes or whenever Lio confided in him.

 

“I’ll find them,” he said to Luis. He would let Masche know that is lover was waiting for him. He almost giggled, already picturing the deadly glare he would receive.

 

Maybe I can get Lio alone, he thought as he turned away from Luis. They never had that much time spent alone together. So many people constantly surrounded them: teammates, family, staff, press, and fans. This never stopped him from sending praises and compliments Lio’s way though and he figured if he could have a private moment with Lio this would be the opportune time to have it.

 

No one was out in the hallway except for security. The coaches were still talking, Geri was still singing, basically everyone was still at the spots they were earlier. If Lio or Masche had left, someone would have mentioned it to him. Lio would have said goodbye to him. He walked around the locker room again, deftly avoided being brought into dancing or singing or anything that could stop him from his search.

 

Then it hit him.

 

He hasn’t checked the showers.

 

“Of course,” he whispered to himself. The Argentines were always the last to exit the showers. He would always tease them about how long they took. He’d complain along with Geri that they were wasting water. He’d bother them with Dani that they shouldn’t sing in there. He’d tell Masche that since he didn’t have hair he shouldn’t be taking so much time. With Lio, Ney would try to smell him, offer him different shampoos, and always, he would say that clean or not Lio was perfect.

 

He checked the restrooms first. Going to each stall, he knocked on the doors while calling out each man’s name. Nothing came from that though so he moved onward to check the sinks that lay between the showers, and the toilets and the stalls. Once more, there was no sign of either man.

 

Confused, but still determined, Ney continued towards the showers. He went to one spot, but saw noting except for the hair product that he and Dani liked to use. I’ll have to grab that before I leave, he thought. Moving onward and deeper into the room, he noticed that it was getting increasingly hotter. He felt like the heat of the room and expected it was because a hot shower had just been had. The mirrors were fogged up too and he could feel the steam.

 

He stopped abruptly when he heard a soft, but deep voice say, “I could have killed that man.”

 

It was Masche.

 

A familiar laugh rang out in response. “You say that about any guy that fouls me.” A snort followed. Must have been Masche, Ney thought. Another light laugh followed it. “Don’t give me that look. I know you could have, but as you can tell, I’m fine.” One more laugh. “I told you. I'm fine, Javi, I’m fine.”

  
  
Javi? Ney never heard anyone call Mascherano that before. It sounded strange. It was like a term of endearment. The way it was spoken was different too; so soft, so appreciative, so tender even.

 

He inched closer, being as quiet as he possible could be. He didn’t hear any water coming down so his earlier assumption was correct that neither Lio nor Masche were done taking showers. Stopping just a bit before he could round the corner, he looked at the mirror that he knew reflected whatever was down the little hall.

 

To his surprise, he saw Masche and Lio sitting on a towel on the shower floor. Another towel covered their bottom half not revealing any legs, genitals, hips, or anything. Lio’s head was underneath the crook of Masche’s neck. A bit of jealousy bubbled up inside of Ney, but he brushed it aside. He didn’t want to assume too much and be made an idiot about it. But the jealous came back out when he saw that the two were holding hands.

 

With eyes closed, Lio was smiling. It was a smile that Ney has never seen before. It wasn’t just a happy one. It looked like a joyful one, bright as the sun, elegant like the moon.

 

Masche’s eyes were open, making Ney back up a bit so he wouldn’t be seen, but they weren’t directed at the mirror. They were only looking down at Lio. He didn’t have a smile on his face, but he didn’t need to. Ney could see how relaxed he was, how his breathing was even, how the adoration and devotion in his eyes shone through.

 

“They’re waiting for us.” Masche said noncommittally, making no move to get up.

 

“Let them wait.” Lio responded. He snuggled up closer to Masche. Ney didn’t think anyone could get any closer when positioned like that, but Lio did. He felt himself gulp nervously, the high that he previously felt disappeared. Masche, who had his other arm around Lio, held the man tighter, almost possessively. “I want to be alone with you for a little while longer,” Lio continued.

 

Masche kissed the top of Lio’s head, letting his lips linger there as a smile finally made its way to his face. Ney felt his skin burn at the sight, a little sick of what he was seeing, and confused more than ever. He could have sworn Masche’s affection lay toward Luis. And Lio to me, he thought.

 

Lio hummed agreeably to the kiss. Masche closed his eyes and inhaled Lio’s scent. I always wanted to do that, Ney thought. He should walk away. Forget about what he just saw. He would reason with himself that the two Argentines were just friends. Close friends and nothing more. He would return to the celebration, maybe take a swig of alcohol, and just wait for the two to come out and he’ll act like nothing happened, like what he heard didn’t happen. But he didn’t move. He was stuck in his fear; stuck in uncertainty, not ready to let realizations of any sort of unwanted truth hit him.

 

“I think we’re going to win the treble.” Lio said confidently. Ney knew that Lio believed what he said. He couldn’t help but believe him too. “I can feel it in my bones,” Lio continued, adjusting himself a bit before snuggling further into Masche. “Don’t you feel it, Javi?”

 

There was that nickname again. No one called Masche anything, but Masche, El Jefe, or puta (that was most of their opposition’s favorite). The only people that Ney ever heard call him Javier were his family and the mister. Hearing a nickname like this coming from Lio’s mouth in such an affectionate, dare he say, loving way made the hairs on his back rise, and he felt heat in his ears. Was it anger? Jealous? A bit of both, he thought.

 

Masche’s face fell a bit, his arm around Lio getting a bit tighter as if needing support, and he wiggled a bit to get his back in a more straight position. Noticing the sudden change in mood, Lio eyes still closed, snuggled himself into Masche, further in like he was before the other man wriggled away. He squeezed Masche’s hand.

 

“I know.” Lio said a little sadly, his eyes were distant as if he was recalling a memory. “I thought we were going to win it that day too.”

 

Ney looked away. He couldn’t bear to see the guilt that was on Lio’s face. He remembered the final just as much as they did. It nearly broke him to see his friend Masche so distraught. It pained him to see Lio was so sad.

 

Suddenly Masche let out a baritone chuckle, this made Ney look back at the mirror. Lio’s eyes were still closed, face more relaxed at the sound, no longer was there any sadness. Mascherano sunk down a little, squeezing Lio’s hand, and quickly giving a kiss on the forehead.

“We need to thank Luis and Ney.”

 

Ney’s ears perked up at that. Why would they need to thank him? Did he do something after the final? Maybe I helped them, he thought. A bit of confidence made it’s way in him. Maybe he helped Lio. A bit of hope was out in front of him. He wished that it would enter him and stay.

 

“The whole team actually.” Masche continued thoughtfully. “They were helpful too.” He smiled fondly. “But more so Ney and Luis, don’t you think? You and I grieved together. But they brought back just a little more light, huh?”

 

Lio nodded into Masche. “They’re always joking. Always saying sweet things.”

 

“Luis cooks us food.” Ney liked the food Luis cooked too although sometime he wished he didn’t make the steaks so well done.

  
“Ney always compliments.” He liked doing that because he meant it.

 

“Luis knows when to be quiet, to let his mull over things.” That was true, he thought. In his own times of trouble, Luis was always there like an anchor keeping his ship from drifting.

 

“Ney knows when to speak up, to get us out of those things.” Ney took pleasure that Lio said that about him. It was in his personality to be that way. He was a joyful person and he loved helping people feel joyful as well.

 

“They’re so good to us.”

 

Ney felt hope get even closer. He shook his head at initial feelings of jealousy. It was starting to look that there was no need for it. Lio must have known about his affections. The two Argentines must just be close friends. Nothing more. After all, them talking about him and Luis like this only proved it.

 

“I’m glad we told Luis.” Lio said quietly, so soft were his words that Ney almost missed them. “I was afraid that he wouldn’t understand. That maybe his friendship with us would die.”

 

Wouldn’t understand what, he asked himself. Ney wanted to get closer, he wanted to bring his round the corner, and watch them without the mirror. Maybe he could pull it off. Masche’s eyes were only on Lio now and Lio still had his own closed. I could go there without be noticed, he thought. He could, or he could interfere. He could feign surprise, joke around, tell Masche about Luis’ mate, and maybe, he could finally be alone with Lio.

 

Masche replied, “He wasn’t surprised you know. No one ever is when we tell them.” He paused, a bit hesitant to continue it appeared. He bit his lip, thinking to himself. Ney silently wished he could switch places in that moment. “But you know he would be surprised,” he continued, keeping his tone neutral. “The poor kid adores you, you know.” He paused again. “He’s a shameless flirt, and he loves flirting with you.”

The way he said the last sentence sent shivers down Ney’s spine. There was a warm acceptance in it, but like one would have towards a child. He didn’t fail to notice Masche pull Lio even closer to him; arm tighter than before, and his fingers stroked Lio’s. It was possessive, it was like an alpha claiming its mate, and it threw hope right out of Ney and onto the floor.

 

Lio, at last, opened his eyes. He pulled himself out Masche’s arms to look at him fully. They weren’t holding hands anymore. The only part of them that were touching was their lower halves. A small part of Ney believed Lio would set Masche straight, say how much he card about Ney, and walk away. But that was foolish to think, for Lio, eyes filled with love and passion moved forward and captured Masche’s lips.

  
As much as he wanted to look away, deeming this too intimate compared to all the other things he saw, he couldn’t. He saw Lio pushed himself onto Masche, never pulling away for breath, just going deeper and deeper in into the kiss. Masche returned it with an equal fire. One of his hands held Lio’s face while the other held the back of Lio’s neck. Ney didn’t how much time passed, but it felt like the length of their kiss to be excruciatingly long.

 

Finally, the two men pulled apart. Ney let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Masche had a smile of victory, but it was a victory that he knew he always had. Lio was smiling back with content rather than of victory. He put his hand on Masche’s cheek, stroking it with thumb. Those eyes filled with utter devotion were like a knife into Ney’s heart.

 

“That’s all it is.” Lio started, still stroking Masche’s face. “He flirts, but nothing will come from it. I’ve never given him any word, no action, no hint that I want him the way he wants me.” He gave Masche a quick kiss. “I’ll tell him myself that it will never happen tonight. Just to make sure he understands.”

 

Ney felt a lump in his throat. He couldn’t watch or eavesdrop anymore. Like a terrible blow struck him, he felt the urge to slump down the wall and cry. He didn’t do that, of course, because that would let the two men know he was there all along. I guess I imagined it all, he thought. He imagined how receptive Lio was to his flirting, imagined the extension of friendship as an offering of romance.

 

It was all one-sided, he thought sadly. He only led himself believe that Lio was returning the feelings and flirting back. Turns out the Argentine was just being a friend, just amusing him by smiling at his flirtatious antics. His radar on other people’s connections was off too.

 

Lio and Masche were just close friends to his eyes. He never questioned if it was more romantic than platonic. That couldn’t be, that couldn’t be, he would think to himself. But now, there was no denying what he just witnessed. It made him look back at other things about the two that showed their relationship; things he refused to examine closely because he wanted to be ignorant.

 

No one knows Lio like Masche does. They are together in the club and in the national side. Who does Lio sit next to on the plane and buses? Masche, he answered. Who is almost always the person who gets ready to fight when Lio is fouled? Masche. Who is the only one that can get Masche to calm down when he’s ready to fight? Lio. Who knows how to translate Masche’s quiet, turbulent moments in the locker room? Lio.

 

Another wave of pain came over Ney. Why couldn’t he have seen this sooner? If he had, he wouldn’t be feeling this way. His heart wouldn’t hurt so much, eyes wouldn’t threaten to tear up, and his hands wouldn’t be shaking like they were now.

 

“They’re waiting for us.” Lio said, noncommittally.

 

A part of Ney, a little part of him that dared, had hoped that Lio would say it again; that there would be more conviction and meaning in his words. If his wishes could come true, maybe Mascherano would agree that they should go back to the locker room. They both wouldn't act as they were acting now. Maybe, if the world was kind, maybe what Ney heard was just a trick of the light, of some of the champagne that he drank. The two would walk out and join in the celebrations as if nothing had happened. Ney would go back to showering Lio with affection and Lio - he would be returning it.

A soft sigh sounded out. 

 

“Let them. I want to celebrate with you a little while longer.” Masche replied.

 

 Ney closed his eyes. The feeling of hope, that little drop that he held fell away with his tears. He took in a deep breath, and turned fully away from the voices. He wasn’t going to eavesdrop anymore nor was he going to try to get them to come out into the locker room. This wasn't some play, some overreaction in his imagination. What he heard was real! What he felt was - pain.

 

He turned, heart sinking even more, and walked away. Each step felt heavier than the last. His shoulders drooped, head down, and the tears that no longer were just threatening to fall were freely leaving.

 

He still had the image of Lio in Masche's arms.

 

"Any luck?"

 

Ney quickly rubbed his eyes, trying desperately to wipe away the tears so that no one could see it. The music sounded glaringly loud to him now. The throbbing beat hit him harder. It wasn't something he could flow with or move with in tandem. Now it was just another weapon to tear at this new, open wound in him.

 

Strong arms wrapped around him. He tried to pull away, not wanting any physical contact from anyone. Unless it's from Lio, he thought miserably. But the arms wouldn't let go. Instead, the grip around him became more firm. One arm was wrapped around his waist and the other held his head. Gentle hands caressed him and stroked him through his hair. He again tried to pull away. He didn't want anyone to see him in his grief. He didn't want to ruin the celebrations. He wanted to deal with what he just found out on his own.

 

"Oh Ney."

 

Luis' voice was no longer bearing any excitement or glee. It was softer now, filled with concern, and knowing. This made Ney want to pull away even more. He wanted to raise his arms and push the other man away. Maybe he would scream in protest. Maybe he would run out of the locker room, out of the stadium.

 

But he did nothing.

 

The fingers running through his hair felt good. He felt his heartbeat slow just a bit. He buried his head in Luis' arms, closed his eyes and quietly cried.

 

"Shhh." Luis whispered, laying his chin gently on Neymar's head. He almost didn't hear Ney say in anguish, "I just wanted to celebrate with Lio alone."

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed that! I might add on to this! Thanks for reading!


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